


Hulk Knows

by Magik3



Series: Jen/Marie [1]
Category: She-Hulk, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Coming Out, Cute, F/F, Trans, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Who knew that Rogue and the Hulk (Jennifer Walters) would be so cute together?This is a sweet, eventually also smutty, fluffy romance featuring Rogue & Hulk in which Rogue is a trans woman & Hulk is a cis woman who also gets gender stuff because of her muscles. It's non-fetishy so if you're not into more realistic trans woman & cis woman representation, this will probably not be your thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because a friend of mine linked me http://postcardsfromspace.tumblr.com/tagged/interstitial+headcanon/page/2 Which includes: “Rogue is a trans girl, but with how much drama just her powers and her bring up, she feels self-conscious about mentioning it. Most of the rest of the team knows and doesn't really care, but don't want to be the one to tell her they know.”
> 
> And I wanted to see that in fic, so I asked my friend: what stable person in the Marvel comicverse would you pair Rogue with? And she said: Jennifer Walters, which caused me to start reading the (great!!) 2017 Hulk.
> 
> Eventually there will also be Carol Danvers and at least one Binary nonbinary joke.

  
It had been a quiet week after a lot of alien-related incidents. Alpha Flight and Carol caught it first and then a bunch of Avengers and some X-Men got into the action. I’d been fighting alongside Carol. Rogue joined us for a bit; she and Carol didn’t snipe at each other like usual.  
  
“You and Rogue getting along?” I’d asked as we were cleaning up.  
  
Carol smirked “Have for years, honestly, just figured no point anymore in pretending we don’t. After all we’ve been through, it’s better if people know we’re close.”  
  
“How’d that happen?”  
  
“Few years ago, she came to break me out of a hell-prison, that she put me in. We have a lot in common. Except when we don’t.”  
  
And that was all she said about it.  
  
But the next week I was sitting amid a pile of papers when Bradley called in, “Jen, there’s an Anna Marie D’Ancanto to see you, no appointment.”  
  
“Really? Send her in.”  
  
She came through the door dressed in a burgundy skirt and brown calf boots that matched a cute jacket. Smiling, she sat in the chair across the desk from me.  
  
“You’re not green all the time,” she said.  
  
“I’m not. Did you need something?”  
  
“I’m returning something. When you let me borrow your strength last week, I also got a few memories. There’s one about filing dozens of small trademarks to patchwork over the whole intellectual property as it comes out of copyright. Or do I have that backwards? I thought I’d come tell you, in case you didn’t get it back. Sometimes short-term gets janky.”  
  
“Oh! Yes, that’s what it was! Thank you,” I’d been trying to remember for days the strategy I’d figured out for that case. I knew I’d worked it out, just couldn’t quite recall. I snagged the file and made a few notes, almost forgot she was there.  
  
Rogue had been watching me make notes. When I finished, she pulled a piece of paper out from half under a file folder and tipped it up to show me the headline. “The Marisol Escobar retrospective? Did you go?”  
  
“Not yet. I put that there to remind me,” I told her, not sure where she was headed.  
  
“I’ve been meaning to …” she trailed off, bending the corner of the flier and letting it spring back.  
  
“Do you want to?” I asked. “Bradley thinks her art is weird, Patsy doesn’t have the patience for it, and Carol’s always in space.”  
  
“You were going to take your assistant? Hulk, you need to get out more.”  
  
“Most people call me Jen,” I told her.  
  
“When are you done lawyering, Jen?”  
  
And that was, in retrospect—or retrospective—our first date. But we didn’t realize that until we’d been out to dinner twice, a documentary, dancing once (she could salsa! I was bad at it, but learning, and she didn’t laugh at me) and worked out together a few times.  
  
I usually worked out in human form, since that’s how I built muscle. But Marie—she was Marie by then—didn’t need to lift weights. She ran some for endurance and then we’d go for smoothies. But the third time, she asked if I wanted to spar.  
  
“You sure?” I asked her.  
  
“Yes, I’m getting rusty and no one’s around to laugh if you pound me through a wall. Hulk up and let’s do this.”  
  
So I did. And her eyes got very wide. I’m a lot bigger since that whole gray Hulk thing. A lot.  
  
I let her get her guard up and threw a few punches, slowly. She blocked, flew around me, got in some nice kicks, until I accidentally landed a punch and drove her partway into the wall.  
  
“Sorry!” I yelped and went to pull her out.  
  
She dusted herself off, adjusted her shirt. “Sugar, that was not on you. You’re just powerfully distracting like that.” Her fingertips sketched the shape of me in the air.  
  
Her tone got through to me a moment after her words. She’d said it all drawl and sweetness.  
  
“I’m … oh?”  
  
She put her gloved fingers on my forearm. “What are we doing?”  
  
I’m a little braver as Hulk, and wasn’t too ragey at that point, so I flexed and asked, “You want to date Hulk?” Hamming it up, because of course I don’t have to speak in third person in Hulk form, but I hoped it went over as cute.  
  
“And Jen,” she said. “I like all of you.”  
  
“Same,” I told her and she kissed me, super quick so she wouldn’t take much power.  
  
I scooped her up and carried her to the corner of the gym with the power-dampening field so people could practice without powers when they wanted. I had to put her down so I could turn human before I flicked on the power-dampener, otherwise I can’t change back and kissing in Hulk form … well I’d never done it since gray Hulk and I figured it might take some practice. At least Marie wasn’t breakable.  
  
But when I went to kiss her, she put her hands between us.  
  
“Power dampener,” I said and pointed to the control panel. “You can take your gloves off. Or … is there something else you want to talk about first?”  
  
She looked down and I went on talking quickly, “Wait, don’t answer, that’s not fair. I just don’t know how to tell you that I know a lot about you—like things you might think we need to have an awkward conversation about but we don’t because it can just be an awkward monologue from me. You don’t have to come out to me.”  
  
“Darlin’, you sure you know what I’m going to say?” she asked without quite looking at me.  
  
Feeling beyond awkward—how is it that I can talk to my clients about turning into monsters and racking up millions in property damages, about being out of control, being afraid—how is it I can talk to Carol about everything alien, and Patsy about everything hero, and Bradley about everything gay—and I could not figure out how to say this?  
  
But it was so much better if I said it rather than if I made her say it. Not at all fair that. And being the Hulk came with some benefits beyond super smashing. Like being able to talk about myself in the third person without seeming like a ridiculous snob. So I tipped my head sheepishly—even when I’m human, I’m a little taller than her—hoped my hair was falling around my face in a sort of endearing human way, and said, “Hulk knows you’re trans.”  
  
She leaned back, crossed her arms, asked, “How does Hulk feel about that?”  
  
I curled my hands around her shoulders, pulled her close, kissed next to her ear. I whispered, “Hulk likes you. I like you.” What was it she’d said to me about being Jen and Hulk? I repeated it back to her, “I like all of you.”  
  
The gloves came off. We made out in the corner of the gym, inside the power dampener, until her fingers were up under the edge of my shirt. I caught her wrist and said, “There are about three dozen people I don’t want to walk in on this, most of them clients.”  
  
“Sorry! I didn’t think about that, you representing mutants and inhumans. If it’s not too forward, I have a setup like this,” she paused and waved at the power dampener, “In my bedroom.”  
  
“How big is your bedroom?”  
  
“Normal sized. Oh! Are you going to Hulk out?” Her eyes lit up in a sweet, wicked way. “Please say yes.”  
  
“Probably. I’m having feelings; that can do it.”  
  
“Jen … I think … I’m afraid I won’t know what to do with you all big and Hulky. We might need that talk after all.” She touched my hands. “You’re shaking.”  
  
“Intensity. Feelings.” By that point I wasn’t making short sentences to be cute, I was fighting the rising power in me. Even if I couldn’t change while the power dampener was on, if I kept feeling this way, I was going Hulk out the second we turned it off.  
  
She curled a lock of my hair around her finger and then let it fall back into place.  
  
“We could run/fly to my place, get the power dampener, head to your place, leave it there and get some dinner,” she suggested. “Talk a little. Have things set up in case we don’t want to keep talking?”  
  
I knew where she lived, so I stepped out of the dampening field and let the change roll through me. “Race you,” I growled and kicked open the massive double doors the gym had just for people like me.  
  
I had a head start, but she’s much faster. She got there with enough time to change clothes and unhook the thingamajig. She met me on the front stoop holding a big hunk of machinery with a lot of wires and coils and wearing a very cute skirt with the lace-up boots and my favorite of her jackets.  
  
“Loser buys dinner,” she said and took off flying for my place.  
  
I concentrated on not breaking parts of the city as I sprinted after her.


	2. Chapter 2

  
At my place, she set up the power dampener while I turned human and got clothes on. Then we walked, like normal humans, a few blocks to a little fusion place I like. They knew me and never blinked at the amount of food I could put away on days when I’d Hulked a lot.   
  
Marie ordered herself a glass of wine and I tore into the bread basket, waiting to see where she wanted to start this conversation.  
  
“So you want to tell me how you know?” she asked.   
  
“Bruce told me a while ago and then I kind of forgot.”   
  
She put her gloved hand on mine and rubbed her thumb in a comforting arc, like she did any time I talked about Bruce. But her tone wasn’t comforting when she said, “I never came out to him.”  
  
“He heard from Natasha. She was the center of a web of all the queer and trans heroes and helped us watch out for each other. I wonder who’s doing that now.”  
  
“Oh,” Marie said and sat back thoughtfully. “Well that explains a few things.”  
  
I raised my eyebrows at her and she clarified, “At the school, after everything happened, I thought it was just more of those weird Tony AIs walking around, that he’d made one for Natasha too, but Kitty said it was a kind of magic. So Natasha sent some magic version of herself to talk to Kitty and Illyana. That must’ve been what it was about. They’re the nexus now.”  
  
“Safer than an encrypted data file,” I said, still impressed at how Natasha had everything covered. And then of course I missed her and Bruce and … I tore more bread apart, dipped it in olive oil and ate until I could say, with a steady voice, “Anyway, Bruce told me so I could keep an eye on you.”  
  
“And then you forgot?” Her voice came out pretty incredulous.  
  
“Not that you were one of us, just the details. Bruce and I got you, Kitty, Beast and Bobby, well, now both Bobbys.”  
  
Marie didn’t blink at the list, but I figured she knew more about all the X-Folks than I did.   
  
I still remembered when Bruce told me. I’d been in his lab, pestering him to get his attention as usual, and he’d said, off-handedly, “Oh Natasha wants me to read you in on her secret mission.”  
  
“As long as there’s no nail polish involved,” I’d insisted. “That last secret mission … you couldn’t have told her Hulks don’t wear nail polish.”  
  
“But now I have some video footage I will treasure forever,” he said, looking up from his screens to smirk at me. “We’re watching out for some of the LGBTQ X-Men.”  
  
“Oh cool. Wait, why me? Did you tell Natasha?”  
  
“Didn’t have to,” he said. “She just knows things. I always thought your first girlfriend would be Patsy.”   
  
“No. She’s utterly straight. And I need her to be a friend, a very best friend in the world. Sometimes that’s more important. Which X-Men?”  
  
“Iceman, Kitty Pryde, Rogue and Beast,” he said.   
  
“Beast is gay?”   
  
“Trans guy,” Bruce said. “I think straight, but I didn’t want to pry.”  
  
“Is Kitty with Rogue? How does that work?” I couldn’t help asking. “If they touch, wouldn’t they both phase through the Earth?”   
  
“Uh, no. Kitty’s usually with one of the Rasputins. But never both at the same time. I got a real earful about that. Not sure who Rogue’s with, oh and she’s trans as well as bi, and I don’t know if Remy knows, so …”   
  
“If it gets weird I can pound him into the dirt?”   
  
“I can pound people,” he said. “I’m telling you because of your advanced verbal skills.”  
  
“Not fair,” I told him. “I have to talk all day in court. You stay Bruce and do the talking. If anyone’s a transphobic shit, I get to hit them.”   
  
That had been a few years ago. Now I told Marie the basics of that and she grinned into her wine glass while I tried not to get teary about Bruce for the hundredth time.   
  
“Who watches over you?” Marie asked.   
  
“Carol, some of Alpha Flight, and … maybe Tony or now the Tony AI? Which is a really weird combination as I think about it. If you and I are something, then I’m pretty sure you’ll have someone showing up on your doorstep soon telling you to keep tabs on a few of us.”  
  
“I could keep tabs on you. How do you think Natasha knew about me?”  
  
“Freaky Russian spy training? Would Carol have told her?”  
  
“No.” Marie got quiet for a while and then her eyes widened and she stared across the table without focusing on me. “Jean,” she whispered. “Had to be. Damn. She could get away with anything.”  
  
“You and Jean?”  
  
“With Scott and Logan fighting over her like a piece of meat, whose bed do you think she’d end up in? And our powers worked really well together; I’m just copy her telepathy and … anyway, that was so long ago, but I still miss her sometimes. Funny as hell when she thought no one was paying attention. New-old Jean, from the 60s, good to have her back but, not quite the same. Maybe I’m the one that changed, though.”   
  
I raised my glass and meant to say a toast to the ones we’d lost, but I couldn’t get the words out. She saw the tears in my eyes and clinked glasses, put her free hand over mine, sipped her wine and we both looked out the window for a long time.  
  
When we’d eaten and were trying to decide whether to split a dessert (while the Hulk in me wanted to eat three of them and the human in me wanted to keep her waistline), Marie asked, “We are something, aren’t we?”  
  
“I hope so. You’re a lot better at interpreting surrealist folk art than I am. I’d miss that. And about sixty other things.”  
  
“Is this where I invite you back to your place to look at sculptures?” she asked. “What’s the punchline to ‘How do you have sex with the Hulk?’ Is it, ‘very carefully?’”  
  
“Hah no, not at all. Let’s just say I’m very glad you’ve got super strength and invulnerability.”   
  
“Lord, me too. Get the desserts to go?”  
  
“Did you keep some of that telepathy? Because you’re reading my mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

  
The desserts did not make it into the fridge like they should’ve. Something melted and dripped down the side of my kitchen counter, but I didn’t find that out until the next morning. I’d set them on the counter and Marie had put her arms around me from behind. I turned and touched her shoulders, her upper arms, careful not to touch her skin since we weren’t in the dampening field yet. I reached along her arm and took her hand off my hip, lifted her gloved fingers to my lips and sucked on them.  
  
She made a small, happy sound and backed toward the bedroom, pulling me with her. I felt the downshift of our powers being nullified. She took off her gloves and traced the shape of my face with her fingertips.  
  
“I feel like we didn’t get a proper first kiss,” she said, and kissed me, very softly, pulling away just far enough to kiss me again, a dozen small kisses, each one a little different, our lips getting used to each other, and then sinking in together, her tongue light across my lips, teasing.  
  
I moved backward and we fell onto the bed, side-by-side, kissing slowly, fingertips trailing over clothes and then under. One of her hands inched up my back under my blouse. I had fingers under the slippery hem of her silky shirt, feeling her waist, the harder edge of ribs, then the sleek curve of her bra. I rubbed my thumb along the lower curve of her breast, sneaking up now and again to feel her nipple hardening. Finally she grabbed my hand, through her shirt, and pulled it up to cover her whole breast, or most of it. My hand was too small to cover all of it.  
  
I must’ve made a sound of frustration because she jerked back and looked at me, worried.  
  
“I’m human,” I said. “Not used to my hands being this size.”  
  
“Oh, you’re back to being green most of the time aren’t you? I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. Is this … what do you like?”  
  
We were still face to face, lying on our sides, so there wasn’t much space to look away, but I managed.  
  
“Sugar,” she said very softly. “I’d rather you just tell me than having to guess.”  
  
Despite that being a very good point, it didn’t make it any easier to talk or ask for what I wanted. Maybe it used to be, before gray hulk, before everything. But not much easier. I generally ended up in relationships with two kinds of people: normal humans who were afraid of my Hulk aspect, whether they’d admit to that or not, and were trying to prove something—and superpowered humans who were extremely strong (I had a thing for that) but still not as strong as me and trying to prove something.  
  
Marie was unbelievably strong, but not in the ways I was used to. A few years ago she’d absorbed my power, complete with Hulk Smash! rage, and been forced to take all of Moon Knight’s mess of a psyche—and amazingly managed to keep all that madness and rage moving in the same direction well enough to knock me out and destroy one of Iron Man’s suits. She’d crushed the suit's thick metal head in her fury and maybe that’s when I started thinking we could someday be friends … or more.  
  
I didn’t even fully understand her kind of strength. But I did know from the weeks we’d been spending together (every chance we could) that she didn’t compete with me. She didn’t seem to be trying to prove she could take me. Maybe that was because, of everyone I’d been in bed with, she was the one person who actually could take me. But more likely because that kind of competing, one-upmanship just wasn’t her nature. She was a whole lot more interested in what people could do together than in what they could do against each other.  
  
So maybe this wasn’t going to be like most of the other times.  
  
I spread my hand across her ribcage and said, “I like being Hulk. My hands feel too small right now. It’s disorienting.”  
  
“Well all right, you want go all green and we can keep going?” she asked.  
  
“You don’t mind if I Hulk up?”  
  
“Mind?” Marie asked, slightly breathless. “What’s the opposite of mind?”  
  
“Want?” I was grinning now.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’ll be depowered, though,” I said. “The dampener makes me a little less strong as Hulk, easier to control, but I’m still really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“Then we’ll just put me on top, Darlin’”  
  
I had to kiss her a lot more then, until it got frustrating that my body didn’t feel quite right. I levered off the bed and stripped out of my shirt and jacket, pants, bra. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be too forward, just don’t want to rip everything.”  
  
Our first time together should get to involve some undressing, so I fished in my dresser for a sleeveless shirt and shorts that fit my Hulk body and carried them into the living room with me.  
  
I changed, flexed and stretched, put on the shirt and shorts, and went back into the bedroom to see Marie propped up on my pillows. A wisp of white hair curled down her forehead and her bright green eyes had a sparking “come get me” intensity.  
  
I climbed very carefully onto the bed (my bed is the custom-made size that’s bigger than a California king: seven feet wide and seven-and-a-half long). I lay on my side next to her, propped up on one elbow, and slipped my hand under her shirt again, spread my fingers wide across her belly.  
  
“Oh,” she said, more gasp than sound. “Your hands are much bigger like this … yes, please.”  
  
She tugged at my wrist, upward. I moved slowly over her ribs, brushed the curve of her breast and then fit my hand over it.  
  
Her hands came up, one tangling in my hair at the base of my skull, the other gripping my shoulder, tugging on me. I resisted, held my distance.  
  
“This okay?” I asked, squeezing an amount I hoped was light.  
  
“Very.”  
  
“This?” Harder.  
  
Her fingernails dug into my shoulder and she arched into my hand. “Yes.”  
  
I flicked her nipple, pinched it a little.  
  
She tugged at me insistently. I played with her breast again, teased her nipple, watched for a flash of pain in her eyes and didn’t see it.  
  
“I will tell you,” she growled at me. “I will say ‘ouch’ or ‘stop.’ So please, please come down here and kiss me.”  
  
“You were supposed to be on top.”  
  
“Well I can’t flip you without powers, Sugar, so whatever you want, you make it happen, but more you-on-me would be real nice about now.”  
  
I kissed her and then we were all tongues and lips and fingers for a while. She shoved my shirt up so I pulled it off. Getting her shirt off without ripping any buttons turned out to be too intricate for Hulk fingers, at least with as hazily aroused as I was, so I had to take a few deep breaths while she undid all the buttons.  
  
She slowed down, working up from the bottom, getting slower and slower as she undid each one. I grabbed one of the bedposts to keep myself from interfering and only crushed it a little.  
  
“Lord, you’re pretty like that,” she said. “Green is definitely your color.”  
  
I might’ve eventually come up with something to say except she shrugged out of her shirt and let it slip off the side of the bed. Her bra was … I had never seen anything remotely as good ever.  
  
“Is that even from Earth?” I asked.  
  
“Mmhm, Milan. I was hoping you’d like it.”  
  
The straps and band were a bright peach with little pink bows and frills, but the cups themselves were made of sheer mesh. Naughty, completely transparent mesh, so close to her skin color that it seemed almost invisible. All of this framed, accentuated and revealed her breasts like the world’s best invitation.  
  
I grabbed her ankles and pulled her down the bed toward me. She yelped and laughed, reached for me. Kneeling over her, I gently put my mouth on one mesh-covered nipple. I had feelings for this bra. I was determined not to wreck it. But that is very hard to do, even in half-powered Hulk form, when I also wanted to tear it off her.  
  
Finally I had to stop, panting hard, and say, “Take it off. Maybe also anything else you don’t want me to rip.”  
  
“Oh.” A shiver went through her and her smile got more intense. She shifted up on her elbows and unhooked the bra, dropped it over the side of the bed.  
  
I’d intended to let her get her skirt off if she wanted, but once the bra was out of the way, I had to lean down on her again, feel her breasts on mine. I rolled us so she was on top and went on kissing, touching, rubbing against each other in every way we could.  
  
She pressed closer, and closer still, her face buried in my hair and the side of my neck, making little high-pitched gasping sounds, her body shuddering. I rocked with her, held her tight, felt her body tensing and releasing.  
  
When her breathing had slowed and the little shivers weren’t going through her, I moved my fingers along her thigh, under her skirt. She caught my wrist.  
  
“Darlin’, the panties don’t come off the first time, okay?”  
  
“Sure,” I said. “Where are we on touching? Is this okay?” I put my fingertips at the lacy edge of her panties.  
  
She wriggled against me. “Yes.”  
  
I traced all the lacy edges until she was gripping my shoulders hard, pressing her face to my chest, whimpering.  
  
“Can I touch you over the panties?” I whispered.  
  
She nodded. I ran my fingers over the curving, soft, heavy fullness of her. I slipped my fingers down to feel the wet crotch of her panties, grinning harder at the confirmation that she’d already come and seemed game to do it again. I played with the densities in her panties, finding the places that made her moan and hold onto me.  
  
And then, in a moment of Hulk-genius, I simply put my whole hand over her. My hand was big enough that my fingers extended part way across her thighs and my palm cupped her sensitive parts. I moved very slowly and let her make up the difference; she rubbed herself against me insistently, getting heavier in my palm, denser, but still soft, delicate.  
  
I curled my middle finger between her legs, pressing into the already-damp crotch of her panties. I wanted this to go on all night, but even more I wanted to feel what I did to her. I wanted to slow time when she cried out and shuddered and I felt pulses of hot wetness spread down through the fabric.  
  
Her wetness made the fabric heavy around my finger, like I was a little inside her, and a rush of wet came from me too, into my underpants, sticking them to my skin. Hot at first, but cooling as we lay together, me holding her as tight as I dared, her fingers making happy patterns on my collarbone and shoulder.  
  
“Do you care if I take mine off?” I asked.  
  
“What’s the opposite of care?” she murmured.  
  
“Want?”  
  
“Mmhm.”  
  
I shucked my shorts and underpants, then pulled a blanket over us and we dozed for a bit. I came back to full wakefulness because she was kissing along my collarbones and then down my breastbone, fingers playing across my breast.  
  
When she saw me looking, she asked, “Sugar, how do I make you come? Assuming you’d like that.”  
  
“Yes, please." I liked that she'd asked. Liked very much the simple directness that made her easy to answer. I told her, "Either we turn off the power dampener and you put some gloves on or just look in my top dresser drawer.”  
  
She crossed the room and pulled the drawer open. “Lord of mercy, does this double as a weapon?”  
  
“Might.”  
  
She lifted it with both hands and felt the weight. “Is this vibranium?”  
  
I nodded.  
  
Laughing, she managed to get the toy on the bed and held herself up with the bedpost I’d only slightly crushed.  
  
“A vibranium vibrator?” she asked. “Oh this is the very best. Who sells these? I know a few people who need them.”  
  
“Aneka of the Dora Milaje had it made for me after we got smashed together and I complained that I couldn’t find a toy I wouldn’t break. I bet if we ask nicely, she’d make a few more. But don’t let Shuri know. The prototype she came up with was too advanced. I do not need a sex toy with AI that folds down into my belt buckle.”  
  
“You were Hulking in Wakanda? I thought they handled everything themselves.”  
  
“Lawyering.” I said. “They retain me on their American business law team, even though it’s not my specialty. Something about keeping the colonizers honest.”  
  
Then, since we’d gotten somewhat far afield topic-wise, Marie climbed on top of me and kissed me until the mood got superheated again.  
  
And I wasn’t competing, but I think by the time we fell asleep again, we were tied: three-three.  
  
*  
  
In the early morning light, she said, “I usually get a lot more questions before this point.”  
  
“I usually get fewer, which has been a real shame.”  
  
She laughed, “What? I unlocked the special vibranium level before anyone else?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Oh damn. I’m proud but real sorry about the damn fools who didn’t figure to ask,” she said.  
  
“You should see the guys tie themselves in knots when they realized they didn’t have the physical strength they’d need to get the effect they were going for. Not a one asked me how. Not the women either.”  
  
“So nobody asks for directions when they’re lost, huh? You can give me directions any time, Sugar.” She paused and said, “And you can ask me what you want.”  
  
I thought for a minute then asked, “Did this go how you wanted?”  
  
“Better.”  
  
“Mm, good. Same. Do I get to take your panties off next time? Or is that a thing, the staying on, because it’s okay if it is.”  
  
She pushed up on a elbow, looking down at me, her hair perfectly messy. “Just, look, if you’re going to ask, do it now, okay?”  
  
“You know what _was_ confusing about last night? I couldn't figure out if I should ask you to take me shopping for a bra like that. Would it even look good on me?"  
  
“Oh yes, we should definitely go shopping,” she said. “That’s really your question?”  
  
“Should I have asked how you like sex to be? You can tell me, give directions too, if you want something else.”  
  
She stared for so long I started to worry that I’d missed a crucial question. “What am I doing wrong?” I asked.  
  
“You’re not. Not a thing. It’s just almost everyone asks why I haven’t had ‘The Surgery.’ And they ask when I'm planning to get it. Like it's a given. Or if they don't ask ... that's usually worse because the only girls they've seen who look like me are the ones in porn and they have expectations about what I'm going to do. Wrong expectations."  
  
I growled and she jerked back.  
  
I managed to get the words, “No. It’s _your_ body” into the trailing end of the growl. She threw her arms around my neck and held tightly. I crushed her against me, buried my face in her hair.  
  
I told her, “Lovers ask me, ‘can you be She-Hulk but, just, a little smaller?’ Like _that's_ possible. Or they ask me not to Hulk out. One time it was a yelling fight over how strong I am just because I’d picked him up and carried him into the bedroom while we were kissing. Another lover wanted to see me do all these super strong things and then turn completely submissive in bed. It was disgusting. I figure if someone takes me to bed, it should be because they like how I am, not that they want to change me. It’s not okay to get asked to be different from how you are, especially in bed.”  
  
“Lord,” she said softly. After a long time of us holding on tight, she said, “Okay, nobody’s going to be different from how we are and we’re going to talk about what we need and maybe also about what we like. And that leaves me with only one important question this morning: how long until you have to go to your office?”  
  
“I'll pretend I got stuck in traffic and just jump there, so: long enough!”


	4. Chapter 4

After our first night in bed and that morning and me almost being late to court, I was in a haze of … just … happiness, even though I had some super long back-to-back days in court.  
  
Marie was teaching and doing combat simulations. On my second day of not seeing her, I maybe texted her a photo of what I was wearing. She maybe texted me back a few pics of what she was wearing … that I did not (much) peek at under the table during the most boring cross examination that courtroom had ever heard.  
  
Finally, finally late on the third very long day, the verdict on my case came down.  
  
I texted Marie: _Won!_

I added the emoji: :flexed biceps: :green heart:  
  
She wrote back: _When do you get to go home?_ :sparkling heart: :women kissing:  
  
I looked at my schedule: nothing. No reason to go back to the office. I’d already had the celebratory conversation with my client. I went around to the alley side of the courthouse, jumped up on the roof, jumped across a few more roofs (the ones I knew could take the weight of my landing), and from there to the broad, reinforced balcony that spanned the eastern side of my apartment.  
  
I texted Marie: _already home._ :wine glass: :takeout box: :question mark:  
  
I unlocked the sliding door and went in, dropped my briefcase on the coffee table, thought about whether I wanted to drink or eat first. Then I stood in front of the fridge and downed half a bottle of orange sports drink. Now, should I order new takeout or was there enough left over from last night for two?  
  
My phone buzzed. Marie had texted: _I'm here._ :raised hand: :upwards arrow: :dress:  
  
I whirled around. She stood on the balcony, leaning in the open doorway, grinning.  
  
“Thought you had class,” I said and it came out pretty growly because she looked amazing in a short skirt and smart little jacket.  
  
“That was over two hours ago. It’s later than you think, Sugar.”  
  
I moved to where I could rub the soft lapels of her jacket with my fingers, tugged her inside, into my arms. I lifted her, so she’d be my height to kiss. She laughed, threw her arms around my neck and got to kissing me with thorough, deep intensity.  
  
I managed to kick the sliding door shut and carry her across the room to the side no one could see if they did peer through the balcony door.   
  
After not enough breathless kissing, I paused and grumbled (more at me than at her), “I'm in my good suit." The danger of me tearing some part of it was rising by the minute and it was a pain getting suits tailored to my size.  
  
“Well now, let’s not mess it up.” Marie squirmed out of my arms. She flicked open my slender belt and the little button on my skirt, unzipped it, pulled it down to my feet. But not the slip. That she left on me, along with my pantyhose. While I was thinking about that, she got my jacket off and folded it carefully over the arm of the couch.  
  
Over the next few minutes, we ended up with me in a slip and pantyhose, barefoot and bare breasted, and Marie in her slightly shorter skirt, bare legged (because it was warm out and I was only wearing hose for court), her shirt unbuttoned and falling loose around a bra that looked like caramel drizzled over her breasts. We were in the living room, away from the power dampener, and she’d gone a little green, in a cute way, from touching me. Her bright green eyes and the auburn shades of her hair went extremely well with light green skin.  
  
I had the great good fortune to be wearing hose with a thick seam up the middle. I’d lifted her and steadied us with her against the wall (but one arm around her resting on the wall so I wouldn’t lean too heavily and, hopefully, would not push us through the plaster and beams). She'd wrapped her legs around my waist and I was rubbing myself between her legs, the seam riding dizzyingly along my clit.  
  
Her hips were a little higher than mine, the soft, fullness of her resting and rubbing on my lower belly as we moved. She was nibbling on my ear, puffs of warm breath tickling the parts she’d gotten wet, tiny movements of lips and teeth translating directly to between my legs.  
  
I wanted more pressure and carried her into the bedroom, leaving the power dampener off so she’d stay strong, so I wouldn’t have to worry too much because she could move me around as she needed. She could always turn it on later if she was having trouble keeping her power at a low level. Marie laced her arms under mine, lifted, flew us the last few feet to the bed. We hovered and fell across it, me laughing because way too few people have picked me up and flown me to bed.  
  
Then kissing—deft, thorough, deep—and her lips wandering across my cheek to my neck. I grabbed her hips and shifted so she had one leg between mine, so I could rub against her thigh and feel the seam of my hose against me. She moved up, bent her leg for better traction, pressed into me.  
  
For a long time both of us rocked together, moving fingers and lips, the soft sounds she made a counterpoint to the somewhat less delicate sounds from me. I could reach the outer curves of her breasts and played with them until she sat up to kiss mine. I teased hers through her bra. When she lay back down on me, her nipples were hard points pressing into my breasts.  
  
Rubbing together again, she whispered, “Is this enough?”  
  
“This is perfect,” I told her.  
  
She reached under her skirt and arranged herself better. Her dense softness fit in the inner curve of my hip. I caught her hand as she went to tug her skirt down and asked, “Please?”  
  
“How do you want it, Sugar?”  
  
I pushed her skirt up around her waist so the silky surface of her panties rested on the satin of my slip. “Too soft?” I asked.  
  
“Lord, no.” The words came out with a little moan, her forehead falling on my shoulder, her whole body rubbing on mine, our hips in sync, her thigh pressing between my legs while her heavy, needy clit caressed the inside of my hip and the sensitive curve of my lower belly. My own clit, hard and straining, got thrummed by the seam of my hose as her thigh moved.  
  
My hands on her butt brought her closer every time her body rocked upwards. Her hands, light green, knotted in the blanket on either side of my head.  
  
She said, “Oh,” very softly, mostly breath, and I felt her starting to come and then we both were, a mosaic of sensation, not able to distinguish between the wet between my legs and the wet of her through the slip and her panties, both of us getting wetter. I was soaking down into my hose. In a minute she’d feel that, if she hadn’t already, on her bare leg, the hot spreading warmth as I came in slow widening waves.  
  
She did feel it. She breathed out, “Yes, Sugar, yes.” The words stoked the heat in me, the waves of pleasure quickening, expanding, feeling the spasms inside her, how she was soaking her panties too, how I’d done this to her, how I loved doing this to her.  
  
I pulled her closer still, as close as I dared, curled one leg around hers, fit her against me, rocked my hips in tiny strokes against her, wondering if she could give me more. She made little moaning cries, her hands closed on my shoulders, fingers tight on my muscles, shivering against me and letting go … letting go so she came more, muscles fluttering, hot wetness soaking into my skin so it felt like her wetness streamed down into mine. In a way it did because my muscles clenched and released and sent another, diffuse, wondrous wave of pleasure rising from my center to burst under my skin.  
  
I kissed her forehead, touched the tip of my tongue to her salty skin, pressed my lips against her more. She giggled and wriggled and cuddled into me, putting a hand on the plane of my upper chest, resting all her weight on me. I stroked her back while she kissed my throat and the dip between my collarbones.  
  
“Why didn’t we do this years ago?” I asked.  
  
“Because we’re damned fools,” she said. “Or were.”  
  
“Were,” I agreed.  
  
Much later, when she sat up, I admired the mess of my slip and her panties. She tried to steal away to the bathroom, but I caught her wrist as soon as she swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand.  
  
“Please,” I said. And then, not quite able to meet her eyes, my cheeks getting hot, but making myself go on, “I really like making you come. I mean, also, people in general. People I like, that is. It’s kind of a thing. And I really like you and how we are. Is it okay for me to have a minute to appreciate this?”  
  
She settled back down beside my hips, and threw one leg across me, which opened her legs wide, showing me the dark wet spot that went from the front of her panties all the way down the crotch.  
  
“Tell me more about this thing,” she said. “What is it you like?”  
  
I cleared my throat and said, in the most plain and lawyerly voice I could muster, “Evidence.”  
  
She laughed and stroked her fingers across my hip where the material of the slip had gone semi-transparent and clung to my skin. It wasn’t a very big wet spot. Her panties had taken and held most of her wet. But it didn’t need to be big. I didn’t care whether it was a lot or a little, what I loved was seeing the proof, and feeling it, hearing it, everything that showed how much she’d enjoyed this and what I could do to her, what I could make her feel.    
  
Mischief glinting in her eyes, she said, “Let the record reflect that the defendant came two, maybe three times. Hard to tell since they all blended together.”  
  
“Objection: the defendant's answer is unclear. Was it two or three?”  
  
“Hmm, I’m going to say two but that second one was so long. I just kept coming. I didn’t know I could come for that long.”  
  
“Oh,” I said and couldn’t talk for a minute because that was too great.  
  
She lifted the edge of my slip and held it up so I could see where it had been between my legs, a translucent wetness about the same size as the area over my hip. Then she pushed the slip up around my waist and looked at my crotch. I rose up on my elbows to see what she was seeing. The soaked crotch of my black panties, the ones that didn’t have a lot of material there to begin with, had gathered together and slid a little between my lips. That—combined with the pantyhose seam—explained the wonderful things I’d been feeling.  
  
“These your good hose?” she asked.  
  
“All my hose are super cheap and disposable.”  
  
She tore open the crotch of the hose and ran her fingers over the slickness of my panties and my lips. “Will this evidence hold up in court?” she asked.  
  
“Depends on the judge.”  
  
“We might need more?”  
  
“That’s the wise course of action. To be on the safe side.”  
  
She tore off my hose. I helped, ripping the waistband off while she tore open both legs and stripped the sheer fabric off me. Then I sat and pulled the slip off over my head because I felt rather sentimental about it now that it was evidence. I’m not sure how she got her skirt off, but she did, even though she was back on top of me, in my arms, kissing me.  
  
*  
  
Eventually we made it out of bed and Marie flew out to get Chinese takeout while I showered. After we cuddled on the couch to a courtroom drama because I cannot stay away from those even when they drive me crazy, we were back in bed, Marie being the little spoon, neither of us asleep yet.  
  
She said, “Darlin’ I have something on my mind.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“What you said about evidence—which by the way I could not like more; that is adorable—I just want you to know, in case you get wondering about it, my clit never gets all the way hard. I don’t want you to think that’s about you.”  
  
“Oh? Oh.” I hadn’t gotten there yet in my thinking, but she was right, I would’ve started to wonder. I held her a little tighter and said, “At some point I would. Thank you.”  
  
Her fingers found mine where my hand rested on her belly. “I didn’t want you to think you weren’t doing this right because you are doing this so right.”  
  
“I like how you feel,” I said. “I mean, sometimes I feel guilty, as if I’m getting to cheat at a test because I’m never going to have to wonder, ‘Wait, is that her clit? Did I find it?’”  
  
Marie laughed. “No, Sugar, that’s never going to be a problem.”  
  
I wanted to talk about this longer, to tell her more and said, “There was this girl I slept with in college. We weren’t really dating, we’d just get together when we were both single, on and off for a few years. She had labia that would start out about the same size as mine—when I’m a little pink-skinned human—but the more turned on she got, the more swollen they’d get. The outer labia and the inner. To like three times as big. Sometimes I’d cup my hand over her and feel how big and swollen she was, and I loved that.”  
  
I paused and sneaked a peak at the side of her face, just visible in the light from the window. She had her eyes closed and a little delighted smile curved her mouth.  
  
I told her, “It’s the evidence thing. I love getting guys hard too. Like, a lot. But that’s not the only thing I love. I love how you fill out in my hand or against my body, all swollen. There’s something about the combination of pliant and heavy that really gets me.”  
  
She made a soft, happy murmur.  
  
“What gets you?” I asked.  
      
She turned her face a little down, opened her eyes to peek back at me. “Being touched,” she said. “Just about anywhere and everywhere.”  
  
Of course. She’d spent so much of her life unable to touch anyone skin-to-skin. Had that made her hypersensitive? Was it wrong if I hoped so?  
  
“Anywhere especially?” I asked.  
  
“My wrists and all the way up the inside of my arms. The small of my back. All the usual places: inner thighs, collar bones, hip bones. Basically if it’s a common erogenous zone, then yes.”  
  
“Back of your neck?” I asked, nuzzling there.  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
“Behind your ears?”  
  
“Yes. … But, Darlin’, don’t we need to sleep?”  
  
We did. But we didn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

One of the best things about dating a woman who can fly (really fast!) was that I could text Marie and she’d be at my place in minutes.  
  
Friday afternoon she texted me: _let me know when you get home, I’ll come get you for dinner._  
  
I texted: _I’m already home. Ordering delivery, come over._  
  
She beat the delivery person there. But at least when he showed up we had to stop what we were doing and adjust our clothes, which reminded me that I really needed to eat.  
  
“So this might be too soon or not quite right,” I said after we'd settled on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes. “But since we were talking about asking for directions in bed, I’ve been wondering if maybe you’d consider showing me what you do when you’re by yourself.”  
  
“And you’re just going to watch?” she asked.  
  
“Oh I’ll join in. But I want to see what feels good to you without a whole bunch of fumbling around.”  
  
“You going to do the same and let me watch?” she asked.  
  
“You bet I am. … Hulk-style?”  
  
“However you want, Sugar, but I’m mightily eager to see you doing that all Hulked out.”  
  
“If you don’t stop with the drawl, I’m not going to have eaten enough calories today.”  
  
She shut her lips and turned on the television while I steadily ate my way through two entrees. Then I carried her into the bedroom.  
  
Shortly thereafter I discovered that even if you like someone a whole heck of a lot, trying to masturbate in front of them is pretty awkward. At least it felt that way to me. I’d never tried this before.  
  
We’d gotten out the VV (as we were calling the vibranium vibrator) and I ran it over my clit a little. I was on my back, legs spread. Marie sat between my open knees, her legs looped over mine. I was naked as the day I was born, but a whole lot more green, and she was in silky dark green panties and a green and gold demi-cup bra whose motto had to be: _celebrate breasts!_ (I did.)  
  
I set the VV on the bed next to me and said, “This feels weird. And I don’t know if I can come like this. I’m not use to going first or being looked at.”  
  
“Mmhm,” she said. “But I sure like looking at you. Sugar, if I weren’t here, what would you do next.”  
  
“G-spot probably,” I said. “And clit, and think about you.”  
  
She laughed and scooted up so she could easily play her fingers between my legs. “You want to help me find your g-spot?”  
  
I nodded.  
  
She rested her hand on my leg and said, “We’ve got to take a moment and talk this out. I meant to say this on the couch, but you’re powerfully distracting. Hank tests me for a ton of mutant-related things every few months because my DNA isn’t the most stable, so I had him throw in a regular STI panel. I’m clean and I’m only having sex with you. But are we more comfortable if I put on a glove for this?”  
  
I stared at her, grinning. I’d have thought having a safer sex talk would be easier clothed, but with the way Marie was straightforward and easy about it, clothed or naked didn’t matter. Plus she was stroking my leg and looking at me through her eyelashes. We could've talked about anything that way and it would've worked.  
  
“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” I told her. “I’m … uh, I can’t give you anything. At least not normal human stuff. The Hulk form destroys every known human infection on contact. But I am lightly radioactive and, especially with you being this close to me so often, you are taking iodine like I told you, right?”  
  
“Hank says I don’t need to as long as I copy your power regularly. But I am taking some, to be on the safe side,” she said with a little smile.  
  
“Oh, good. Does your power copying mean it’s okay for you to come into contact with my blood too?” I asked. “Not that I’m planning on that.”  
  
“Yep, not a problem. I checked that out. And I’m not planning on it either, but with the rate you break things,” she paused, her smile deepening. “Seemed wise.”  
  
“How does Hank know all this?”  
  
“That one was in the database, since your blood’s likely to get around in a fight. We have really good science in the X-facilities. And, Darlin’, I had to figure there’s special considerations for having the safer sex talk with a Hulk. Now, I’m what I heard you say is that even if I had something, I couldn’t infect you and you can’t infect me so we’re clear to play however we like without barriers?”  
  
“Asked and answered,” I said lightly, but since this was the kind of conversation that required clarity, I added, “Yes.”  
  
“Wonderful,” she said. “I would very much appreciate the guided tour.”  
  
I slid one finger into myself and she lubed her finger and slid it delicately alongside, but not as far in. “Is it here?” she murmured, stroking parts of me and my finger that were not quite there but definitely lovely.  
  
She played around for a while, moving around my finger, finally joining the tip of her finger with mine and pressing firmly, asking, “Here, Sugar?”  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
She used her free hand to tug at my wrist, drawing my hand away and guiding it to the VV. “You show me what you like on your clit, I’ve got this.”  
  
When I got the VV in place, she added a second finger and then stroked up, hard with her super-strong fingers. I arched, hit the wall with my free hand, felt the plaster break over my skin. Marie laughed, pulled her fingers out of me, went a bit more green and dragged me down the bed until I couldn’t reach the wall.  
  
“Going to have to hang something over that,” she said.  
  
“Photo of you with the caption ‘Marie was here?’”  
  
She laughed and we went back to how we’d been and it was super nice but still weird to have all the focus on me. Marie figured this out and asked, “May I join you?”  
  
I wasn’t sure exactly how she meant, but any of the ways I could think of would be good, so I said, “Absolutely.”  
  
She touched some buttons on the side of the VV and it opened out, spooling an arm toward Marie.  
  
“Whoa, it does that?”  
  
“Sugar, did you not read the instructions?”  
  
“I was busy. I skimmed the first three pages.”  
  
“Mmhm.”  
  
The VV had extended itself and gone more flexible, one buzzing end in my hand, the other in Marie’s. She rubbed it up and down the front of her panties and murmured, “Oh, that’s nice.”  
  
It was. Very.  
  
She set the vibrator down for a moment and repositioned herself so she could stroke up along the underside of her clit. On the up-stroke, her head would go back a little, eyes half-closed, hair falling away from her face. I kept forgetting to do anything on my end because I wanted to watch her. She caught on and shook her head at me.  
  
“You’re supposed to be showing me,” she said.  
  
“I am. If you weren’t here I’d still be thinking about you like this. I don’t come just from the mechanics.” I sat up and reached for her end of the vibrator, “Can I do that?”  
  
“If I can do this,” she said and did more reconfiguring to the vibrator.  
  
My side turned into a C-shape, the bottom part of the C for just inside me, against my g-spot, and the top part to tickle over my clit. She lubed it liberally, pushed me to lie back, and slid the thicker part just inside me. It did thrum very nicely.  
  
I sat back up and put an arm around her, pulled her closer, sideways to me.  
  
“Now show me,” I said.  
  
She put her hand over mine and together we guided the humming vibrator up and down the front of her panties. The silky material slipped and slid over her. I put my hand there and rubbed while she played the vibrator around the top of her clit.  
  
She leaned into me, kissing, rubbing her face against the side of my neck. My side of the vibrator was sitting perfectly a little inside me, braced against the bed, so I could rock my hips and feel it press the underside of my clit and then the outside. Like Marie, I thought, and pressed my fingers to the underside of her clit, stroking up.  
  
I hooked my thumb over the top of her panties and asked, “Can I?”  
  
“Oh Lord yes. I’m not wearing them to cover up, I’m wearing them for the feel.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
I turned down the waistband of her panties a few inches, enough to show the top of her clit but leave that slippery fabric over much of her.  
  
“You look so swollen, super sensitive,” I said, fingertips at the top of her clit. With my other hand I snagged the lube and poured it onto my palm. “You must be really wet.” I slid my soaked hand into her panties. She moaned and pushed into me, clit full and heavy in my hand.  
  
She was between my legs, turned sideways, so when my hips rocked, the vibrator pressed the side of her hip and hummed against me. Her legs were open, my hand between them, her hips bucking lightly, her wet, swollen clit rubbing my palm. The more we rubbed together, the heavier her clit got. Bigger, but not that big, a little thicker, not as hard as mine—mine was so hard now that the vibrator almost hurt—but as full. I loved that feeling in both of us, blood rushing to between my legs and hers, making everything feel dense and important, making her full and soft and needy against my skin, her body begging for more touch.  
  
I pulled my hand out just enough to put fingertips on the underside of her clit. I paid attention to the heavy, slow vibrations inside me and traced a circle midway up her clit. “Is this your g-spot?” I murmured, teasing, moving up a fraction. “Or is it here? Or here? Oh, maybe down here?”  
  
My almost too-big fingers slipped around in the dense, close wetness, between her fullness and the constraining panties.  
  
She caught her breath enough to say, “All of it.”  
  
“All?” I went low on her clit and stroked all the way up. She shivered and leaned more into me.  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
“So if I were going to do to you what you’re doing to me …,” I said, thrusting my hips hard enough that she could feel the edge of the vibrator against her hip and remember that it was still thrumming my clit from above and below. “I’d need an extra hand. Put your side of the vibrator on the top of your clit.”  
  
She fumbled around and found it—I did not help—brought that round, humming end near the tip of her clit, down a fraction, and rubbed it in a half-circle. I stroked up and down, rocking my hips in rhythm with my hand.  
  
We synchronized easily. When I rolled my hips back, the vibrator pressed into my g-spot and I stroked my fingers along the same sensitive area on Marie. When my hips rolled forward, the vibrator teased my clit and I slid my fingers back down while I watched her playing that thin metal nub around the tip of her clit. Back and forth. Stroke up and down. Slow and weighty, hungry but measured, hypnotic.  
  
I might come first this time. Both from getting to watch and feel, but also the way she was shaking against me, slumped, helpless. Being at an angle to each other, her breast was just under mine, so the heavy softness of hers made a shifting density with mine every time I rocked forward. We were both so close. I made myself wait. I wanted so much to feel this desperate shaking in her give way to release.  
  
She came in a gush, shuddering against me, fingers loosening and dropping the vibrator. I kept stroking, watching her wetness spill out, the way it gathered at the tip of her clit, pulsed thicker, slid down so she was coming over my hand. Hot, thick trickles of wetness, showing how much she wanted me.  
  
I had to let go, pull my hand away, because I was coming so hard I was afraid I’d hurt her. Jolts of pleasure arched me up and back. I hit the bed, flailed around for support, caught the headboard and snapped it loose. I tried to hold onto it, but the spasms in me pulled my hand free. The headboard hit the floor with a crack, then thumped against the wall.  
  
Marie had one hand on my hip, the other lightly pressing the vibrator to my clit so that I kept coming, kept rising on waves of sharp pleasure. I thought about her wetness slipping gently down my fingers and let myself keep going up and up until I couldn’t anymore.  
  
“Enough,” I coughed and reached down.  
  
Marie, laughing, gently extricated the vibrator from me and crawled up my body to lie on top. “So that’s what you do when you’re alone?” she asked.  
  
Gasping, I managed, “I don’t … break the bed … by myself.”  
  
*  
  
Some time later, when we’d hydrated and snacked and stood making out in the kitchen until my butt got cold, we got back into bed and Marie pulled off her panties. I rubbed the material between my fingers before she could drop them over the side of the bed.  
  
“I love this material. Where’d you get these?”  
  
She snuggled next to me and murmured, “Hank made them for me.”  
  
“Hank McCoy makes women’s lingerie in his spare time?”  
  
She pushed up a little on her elbow and traced the side of my face. “Oh he makes binders for the boys too. They go wild for them. You should see their eyes light up about their chests, it’s the best. Those heroes who go around in their supersuits all the time … Anyway, I do think I was his first custom order way back in the day, not that he’d tell me if I wasn’t.”  
  
“Years ago you went to Beast to ask him to make you underwear?” I asked, both because I was still trying to figure out how this great thing happened and because I wanted her to tell me the story so I could picture it.  
  
“Well I liked that yellow and green suit so much, with that cute little jacket, but it was not kind on my peach to have to keep tucking all the time, so I asked Hank if he could help me out and he did.”  
  
“Wait, hold up, that’s more kinds of great than I can take in at once,” I told her.  
  
She paused, watching me, smiling. She really has the most perfect green eyes, and I am an expert on green. I caught her hand and laced our fingers together.  
  
I asked, “If yours is a peach, does that make mine a granny smith?”  
  
“Oh Lord no,” she said, laughing. “There’s no world in which you’re a bitter apple. It’s the wrong shade of green, but honeydew has a nice ring to it.”  
  
“But you and I both get too many melon jokes,” I pointed out.  
  
“Absent fruit metaphors, what do you say for your parts?” she asked.  
  
“My mother used to say ‘Lady Town’ and I could never figure out, because town implies residency, who was supposed to live there.”  
  
She kissed the corner of my mouth and murmured against my cheek, “Of course you’d think that. Did you write out the town charter and bylaws?”  
  
“I was too busy unionizing the neighborhood dogs. I suppose I could now.”  
  
“When you do, send me a copy,” she said. “‘Cause I could live there.”  
  
“Oh you’re the Mayor of Lady Town if you want to be. But honestly, I just name the parts: clit, labia, g-spot, etc. That is if anyone asks, which they never do. Until you.”  
  
“Sugar, do you want to help me find your g-spot again?” she asked, part example and part invitation. My breath caught.  
  
“Uh yes, very much, but maybe in, like, thirty minutes and we should probably move the bed away from the wall just in case.”  
  
“I could ask Forge to make you a better headboard,” she offered.  
  
“Are all the X-folks going to know my whole sex life?”  
  
“Darlin’, they already do. Mind you, I don’t tell them, but I tell a few friends and there’s telepaths thick as thieves in there, so it gets around. Best you get used to it. Anyone starts treating you different, it’s only because they’re jealous as all hell.”  
  
I said, “Circling back, can I get the rest of this story? Hank made you super panties to go under your supersuit and …”  
  
“Well then, since that got us talking about all sorts of things, I had some special requests. He played with the material so it does very nice things with liquids.”  
  
“I’ll say. I don’t understand how it gets wet and stays wet without getting clingy and weird like mine do.”  
  
“Probably nanoparticles. He tried to tell me and I’m afraid I didn’t much listen, just to the part that they’re self-lubricating to a degree.”

"What, you didn't read the instructions?" I teased and she stuck her tongue out at me. I caught her chin in my fingers and pulled her close enough to kiss.

After a bit of snuggling, I said, "And, you can tell me to butt out, but … peach? I love that. Where's that from?"  
  
"My sweet, screwed up momma Raven Darkholme, if you can believe that. She has her issues but my body was never one of 'em. In that respect, I got the best mom a little trans girl mutant could ask for."  
  
“Amazing."  
  
"Oh Sugar, you have no idea what it's like to be a teenager living with a mom whose partner has precognition,” she said and rolled her eyes. “I could not get away with shit. I could hardly get away with thinking about getting away with shit. I have no idea what Destiny said to her, but Raven figured out she'd have to talk to me about my parts and that a whole lot of words just made life harder for me. So she started sayin' 'peach' when we had to have an awkward parent-kid chat and it fit."  
  
"She had to talk to you about that?"  
  
"You have kids around, you'll realize how many times you have to find a way to tell them all manner of things: wash it, wrap it, show it to the doc, don't do any number of stupid things with, for, or to it. Just last week Kitty had to phase a … oh, I shouldn't tell you that, probably violates HIPAA. Let's just say I'm real glad that in the crisis of the moment she forgot I can copy her powers."  
  
"Too bad I'm not your lawyer or you could tell me,” I said, and then, since I was thinking about privilege and confidentiality, I asked, “Can I tell you a secret?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“I don’t really care about the deep penetration thing. I realized, a while ago, that what I most like about it is just that guys usually come that way—and I like making people come. But I don’t feel much. I don’t ever really crave a ‘deep dicking.’”  
  
She snorted and said, “You got that from Carol, right? When did she ever say that to you?”  
  
“Years ago. We were super drunk on something Puck gave her. When did she use that phrase with you?”  
  
“Didn’t,” Marie said and tapped the side of her head. “It was in her mind. I know a lot more about what she likes than either of us is really comfortable with. ‘Course she knows the same about me and long ago we swore that revealing the ways we both got off in our late teens was completely off limits.”  
  
“Well now I want to know, about you at least.”  
  
“Well I’m not going to tell you. But if you’re real sweet to me, maybe I’ll show you.”  
  
“I’ll be the sweetest Hulk you’ve ever met.”  
  



	6. Chapter 6

  
The thing I’d said to Marie about not being that into penetration was completely true, except every third menstrual cycle my hormones would suddenly kick in like assholes and give me that whole “walking vagina” effect. I’d have hated it if I wasn’t so distracted by the horniness.  
  
It snuck up on me this cycle—until I was sitting in my office chair very much not thinking about work, squirming, and looking up phrases on google that I prayed no one would ever find in my search history. Though, I could say it was for a client … who had a case involving … really needing to get fucked by her super-strong girlfriend but in a non-emotionally-damaging way for everyone involved.   
  
Could we even do this?   
  
I tried to ignore how I felt, went home, kissed Marie very squirmily as we sat on the couch after dinner. She’s highly perceptive and after a minute pulled back, fixed me in her vibrant green gaze and just asked, “Sugar?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m just hormonal as all hell and I can’t get my head into this.”  
  
“Because you’re thinking about what?”  
  
“Um, it’s … uh.”  
  
“They tell me you’re a very articulate lawyer,” she said and brushed her hand over my hair.  
  
“I don’t want to want something you don’t want,” I said, proving her wrong about the whole articulate thing.  
  
Marie pulled me so my head rested on her shoulder. “Tell me and we’ll figure it out.” But she was holding her breath.   
  
I grumbled and snuggled into her and finally managed to say, “I could really use some deep … well, not dicking, but I’m in that rare mood for deep and vigorous.”  
  
She sighed and her shoulders loosened. “Oh, good.”  
  
I sat back and rolled a curl of her auburn hair around my fingertip. “That’s the good answer? What was the bad one?”  
  
“I’m not a fan of anal,” she said.   
  
“Yeah, me either,” I agreed. “Besides if I were in the mood for fucking you there are at least two other much more fun ways I can think of.”   
  
She grinned. “Be in that mood soon, okay? But I can do what you’re in the mood for, just let me fly home for a sec and get my harness.”  
  
“Oh. Oh! You have a harness? Right, because you’ve had more girlfriends than me. I was trying to figure all that out, like what kind to get. It looked really cool but I wasn’t sure about the logistics about how girls with big clits fit into a … go, why are you still listening to me, just go and get it and show me!”  
  
She pushed off the couch, laughing softly, opened the balcony door and was gone. She was back in ten minutes, which meant she’d flown _very_ fast.   
  
“I should’ve brought this over sooner,” she said. “But you said you didn’t like this.”  
  
“I don’t usually, just one or two days out of every twenty-nine.”  
  
She held up the cute travel bag she’d been carrying. “Let me slip into this. How do you feel about stockings with garters?”  
  
“Very yes.”   
  
When she came out of the bathroom, I realized “yes” had not been a strong enough word. I’d thought all harnesses were leather strappy things, but Marie was in red panties with bows and garters and an O-ring in the front, connected to simple black stockings that were anything but simple in the way they highlighted the curves of her legs. Plus she had on a bra with strips of black lace and light pink fabric. Of course one of the lace strips curved around her nipples so I could just see the variation in color through the lace.    
  
“I have heels too, but those are better for going out,” she said. “In bed, they make me feel trampy, and not in the right way.”  
  
“Uh,” I said, torn between wanting to stare at her for another hour and needing her in bed right now. I’d just stripped and gotten between the sheets, because that’s how fancy I am when the hormones take over.   
  
She got the vibranium vibrator from the drawer and slid it, in its compressed form, into the front of her panties, then keyed it to extend. “This big?”   
  
“Next size up,” I said. I watched her adjust it, thought about anatomy, asked, “Wait, how does that stimulate you?”   
  
“It doesn’t much,” she said. “But it’s still fun.”   
  
“Hm, more fun if it’s a double … uh, toy.”  
  
She gave me a confused look. I scrambled out of the bed and went to the dresser, got out the VV instruction manual. She was standing right next to me, smelling like warm sugar and vanilla and light amber musk. I moved closer, so the heat rose between our skin, and showed her an illustration of the vibrator’s double dildo config. Her eyes widened.   
  
“I’m just showing you the concept,” I told her. “Not saying you should use it like this. But you’re the one who read the manual so you know if we can modify it.”  
  
“ _You’ve_ used it like that?” she asked. She put one hand on the small of my back to steady one or both of us.   
  
I wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and bent down to kiss her. Standing up, I was a lot taller, so her breasts pressed against my lower ribs, but even there the lace felt torturously divine on my skin. I put the manual on top of the dresser and fit my hand over her breast.   
  
She moaned against my mouth, but caught my wrist, pulling back. “Not yet,” she said. “Explain while we can still think.”  
  
I pointed to the illustration and said, “What I like about it is that the side that goes inside me is short and nubby here for my g-spot. If I’m fucking someone with one-third of the toy inside me, it’s super connecting and feels really good—so I want to know the analog on you, so we connect like that. I don’t like it when it’s all about me. This short side that would go inside me … something should be at your perineum, maybe vibrating, and also touching your clit, when you get all swollen for me. Can we get more stimulation in that area with the top of your clit and your perineum? Is there a config of the VV that does that?”  
  
She traced the short side of the illustration, brows crinkling with thought. “I’d call tech support but if you keep talking like that I’m really not going to care about the ‘double’ part of this.”  
  
I grinned and caught her around the waist, pulling her close. I moved one hand down the front of her, feeling her heavy clit, the fabric of the panties. I slid my thumb between the fabric and her skin at her crotch, brushing the tender skin of her perineum, the super-sensitive part of her clit near the tip.   
  
“If we had something that went right here, soft but with texture, you’d be rubbing against it while you fuck me,” I said.   
  
And I had an idea. I went to my second dresser drawer, the one for the VV and my other sex accoutrements, which really wasn’t much. But I did have some single-serving  bottles of flavored lube that I’d gotten at a party and I had condoms.   
  
“Hang on,” I told her.   
  
In the kitchen, I wrapped the plump mini-bottle of lube in saran wrap to blunt its edges, then I took the end of the saran wrap, coiled it up and went around a few more time for ridges. I tucked all of that into the condom to make it super soft. I had a needle in a sewing kit I never used in the junk drawer and made two tiny punctures all the way to the lube.   
  
Pressing, I watched a drop of lube ooze out slowly.  
  
Marie had come out and saw. Her eyes went very wide.   
  
“I don’t know how to hold it in place,” I said.   
  
She grinned, “Boob tape.” She got some from her purse, held out her hand for the lube packet and went into the bathroom.   
  
“Don’t test that out without me!” I called after her. I got back into the bed and tried to be patient, which took a lot of trying for not so much success.   
  
She came back a minute later, smirking. “I don’t know if this is going to be amazing or very awkward.”  
  
I shrugged, smirking, “If it starts going awkward, it’ll just be like you’re fucking me while wearing a cheap panty-liner. And we can always stop and take it out.”  
  
She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. She’d pinned the sides of her hair back, away from her face, leaving the long mass of curls tumbling down her neck, shoulders and upper back. “How do you want this to go?” she asked.  
  
Since I was about dying of need, I just told her, “From behind, me on my elbows, and if there’s more than a minute of foreplay, I’m going to get mad.”  
  
“Lord I do like a woman who knows what she wants. Go on then.”   
  
I started on hands and knees. She lubed the VV and rubbed its head maddeningly against me. Then slid lubed fingers inside me and murmured approval at how wet I was—no surprise, I’d been like that most of the afternoon and much more so in the last twenty minutes.   
  
The head of the VV pushed at me, sliding a little way in. “Good?” she asked.   
  
“More,” I growled.  
  
She laughed and slid further in. Moved in and out a few times, caught herself against me, all the way in, with a soft, “Oh!”   
  
“Feels good?” I asked. “Tell me.”  
  
“When I come forward, my clit rubs on that little rough spot you made and oh, I’m getting wet. Sugar, this is _good_.“  
  
After that, a long time without words. She fucked me deeply and thoroughly and I slumped forward with my head on my folded arms, resting and taking this gratefully, and doubly grateful it was Marie and I could have all my feelings about this: loving it and resenting it, wanting and needing, feeling reduced in a way I hated, but not as much in this case, because this was just another way for us to connect.   
  
And it helped so much the little sounds she was making, “ohs” of surprise and soft moans. At one point she was in deep and stayed, pulsing against that spot near my cervix, h-spot or what-the-fuck-ever. I made a lot of guttural sounds. The bit of thinking I could do wondered if she was coming, imagined her gushing wet into the already wet crotch of the harness.   
  
“You coming?” I grunted.  
  
“Not yet.” Breathless, speeding up. “Close.”  
  
“Can’t see you. Tell me.”   
  
She leaned along my back, thrusting adeptly in that deep-and-deeper way, hands moving around my sides to find my breasts. She rubbed her face on my back, made a hot line of kisses.   
  
“We’re getting my panties all wet,” she said. “All this pressure is just making me so wet. It’s spreading out, over my clit, making me slip all around, but that feels so good that I’m getting really full and heavy, making everything tighter down there and the tighter it gets, the wetter and oh, this was such a good idea. I wonder …”  
  
She pushed away from my back, put her hands on my hips, pulled the dildo out a little way and thrust it back in. I roared and rocked back against her. Fingers grabbed harder on my hips to keep her balance and the sound she made was half-laugh, half-moan.   
  
“Yes,” she breathed. “That got me wetter. I felt it, little trickle of warmth down there.”  
  
I could imagine what it must feel like as the lube eased out, drop by drop, over her clit. I thought about each drop sliding onto her skin and being rubbed around that tight space between her legs—and felt my clit and the area around it getting fuller, getting hard, because even if she didn’t, I did. The tip of my clit felt like a dense, tightening knot with a hundred fibers of sensation running from it into my belly and spine and legs, under my skin, connecting my body and Marie’s.  
  
I liked when she got so turned on that the tip of her clit thickened and pushed out of its hood. Mine _felt_ that dramatic, but didn’t look it. If I pulled the hood of my clit back, mine just looked like a very determined pea. I suppose that was partly from being green. I never got the beautiful dark red that she did.   
  
I could slide the tip of her clit, all red and swollen, in and out of its hood. I loved that, found it mesmerizing to have her thick, soft clit in my fingers and pull the hood up and down, watching the needy tip get revealed and hidden again. When that happened, I always warred between how much I liked having her clit in my mouth and how much I wanted to watch.   
  
I thought she must be there now, that point of fullness where, even if there wasn’t much friction in here panties—there couldn’t be with all that wet—the very tip of her clit would keep sliding out, revealing itself, rubbing against the lube packet and her skin. I imagined her clit sliding forward, collecting all those sensations, as the dildo rode forward inside me.   
  
On the perfect thrusts, of which there were many, she came far enough back and forth that the ridged shaft of the dildo rubbed its length along my g-spot, sending jolts of pleasure along the underside of my clit, making the external parts fuller, harder, more sensitive. And at the same time this was happening for Marie. The dildo stroked the underside of my clit while the underside of hers rubbed between her legs—very much like the double dildo—her clit and my clit being stroked in the same way by the shared motion of our toys.  
  
I wasn’t sure I could come like this, or that I needed to. Marie sped up and stayed in deeper again, pressing her hips hard against me. That had to be rubbing and pressing her clit between her legs. When she came, she nearly stopped thrusting. I felt her body tensing and releasing, I pictured her clit spilling its sweet wetness into that tight, close, already-wet space.   
  
Pushing up on my hands, I reached back and touched her fingers, tugged them away from my hip and forward. She bent over me, arms around me, tremors still going through her body, her weight against my back and her energy enfolding me, rolling down over me, releasing, comforting.   
  
After a while, she murmured, “More?”  
  
“Not this. I’m good. Hard for me to come this way anyway.”   
  
She pulled away, the dildo sliding out of me, part loss, part gratitude. I rolled over and dragged her down to the bed, onto her back. She was still catching her breath, laughing a little. I pulled the front of the panties/harness away from her body, keyed the VV to fold down and took it out. Her panties were soaked in the crotch and some of the lube and, maybe, hopefully, her natural wetness had spilled out the sides, onto her inner thighs that now glistened in the low light.   
  
I traced the curve of her clit, trapped under the panties, still full and big and soft. I slid my finger between clit and skin, found the mostly-empty packet of lube that had begun to slip free from its taped spot, and teased that out, leaving my fingers there instead.   
  
“You are so incredibly wet,” I said. “And you smell like strawberry shortcake.”   
  
“Well it was flavored.” She grinned.   
  
“Be a shame to waste that,” I told her and bent down to lick the soaked material.   
  
I tongued her though the fabric, sucked lightly at points along her clit and used my fingers to rub the wet fabric against her where my mouth wasn’t. She was getting bigger, so much that the panties strained.  
  
The panties were high-waisted, wouldn’t be easy to push down and free her clit, so I tucked a finger around the crotch and tugged. She’d stop me if I did anything that got uncomfortable. I pulled the panties to the side and the top of her clit slid out, slick and wet.  
  
“Are you sore or can I keep going?” I asked.   
  
“Yes,” she laughed. “Both.”  
  
“Extra gentle Hulk, then,” I said.   
  
I ran my tongue all around the tip of her clit. The strawberry taste was odd, slightly chemical—and I liked how she tasted naturally—but at least it didn’t clash.   
  
With the panties holding her clit along her body, I had my mouth all the way down between her legs. I put a palm under her knee. “You can put your legs over my shoulders,” I told her. “That’ll be better for your back ‘cause I might be here a while.”  
  
She leaned forward and played her fingers in my hair, stroked the side of my face, then lay back and bent her knees, legs over my shoulders, feet on the bed on either side of me, lightly brushing my skin with that super-fine nylon. The side of her right foot found the outer curve of my breast.   
  
I lay flat against the bed, neck back, face between her legs. My whole field of vision was her: soft inner thighs, the red of her panties, dark red where we’d soaked them, the peach-and-ruby colors of her clit where she extended out beside the crotch of the panties.  
  
I rested my palm on the part of her clit filling the front of the panties and circled two fingers close to the tip, leaving more than enough room for my lips. Putting my lips gently around her, I licked patterns over the tip of her clit, played my tongue around the folds of the hood, using my fingers to slip it back and forth so my tongue could discover and rediscover new territory.  
  
She was rocking her hips slightly, making happy murmured sounds and little gasps. I got my other hand against the bed and slid it under her butt, finding her perineum with my thumb and pressing slow circles there. A sigh made it into her small sounds and her hips changed angle as she rocked down against my thumb.   
  
Her rocking hips added to the movement of her clit in my mouth. For a while, I put my tongue on the underside near the top, her most sensitive area, and flicked back and forth as she moved up and down. I felt like I could’ve held her clit in my mouth all night, playing with the textures and tastes and the way I made her rock and wriggle, but my own was throbbing and hard, rubbing against the bed.   
  
And then Marie said, “Oh, Jen, wait … oh,” each word punctuated by little gasps.  
  
She half sat up and touched my head. I whimpered a plea.   
  
“Oh no,” she said, but softly.  
  
I pulled back just far enough to say, “Please?”  
  
But her head was back, chest thrust up, breasts beautifully framed in lace and pink, perineum pressed down against my thumb, and I watched the first stream of wetness pulse out of her clit and down the inside of her thigh.   
  
Another stream joined the first. She gasped, “Yes.”  
  
My mouth over her clit, the top of it over my tongue, feeling the next wet pulse of her there and another. I rubbed the tip of my tongue under her clit. She was moaning and thrashing, bursting in my mouth.  
  
I thrust against the bed, coming so hard I had to take my hands off her delicate parts and grip her leg with one, the other jammed between my legs, pushing at my clit, body wracked with pleasure, but still mouth half-open, her clit sliding on my tongue, giving me her need, her surrender, her joy.  
  
Even when our bodies had stilled, I kept her clit in my mouth, feeling the fullness of her need abate, feeling its extreme softness and delicacy.   
  
She touched my shoulder, “Lord, that’s too much … Jen, come up here.”  
  
I crawled up the bed and she wrapped her arms around my waist, tucked her head into the curve of my neck and shoulder.   
  
“Can we put that on the: let’s do that again list?” I asked.   
  
“Do we have to wait a month?” she asked.   
  
“For that kind of fucking, yeah, or longer if I’m lucky. For all the rest of it, I don’t want to wait a week or even a half-week.” I paused, then asked, “Babe, would it be wrong if I got us some lube that was peach flavored?”   
  
She laughed and said, “Not at all.” And got up take off the panties, stockings and bra, still laughing.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, Marie is wearing the Sasha from Spareparts, which is the first harness in this fun article: https://www.autostraddle.com/you-need-help-harnesses-for-trans-women-160416/. 
> 
> And she's wearing this bra: https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/saffi-brief-black-and-nude


End file.
